


"Why today?"

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Gen, M/M, Missing Scenes, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: An idea of what John did/thought after Sherlock jumped through to the opening scene where he is talking to Ella.





	1. Chapter 1

Somehow he managed to get to his feet after the crowd had become bored and filtered away. He felt for his phone in his pocket and swore silently to himself as he saw it had been broken when the cyclist ran into him.

"Figures." He glared up at the sky, as it continued to rain, of course it would. Why should the weather care if once again, he had lost the reason his life made any bit of sense. He took in his surroundings, it seemed the same as it had been, what? Just five minutes earlier? Had it really been only five minutes, of course that was just an estimate as his watch had also been crushed when he was knocked to the pavement. About the only saving grace was that he didn't see any of Mycroft's black sedans nearby. Actually, he would love for one of the ubiquitous cars to pull up just now, so he could punch the bastard out. Sherlock would - No. Sherlock wouldn't do or think anything ever again. The thought nearly drove him to his knees, but he straightened up, as the soldier he once was, the soldier he always would be, and made his way to the nearest pub.

After his third pint, he considered things. Yes, he probably should go to Scotland Yard and make some kind of statement. But then, if he saw any of the arseholes there, he might end up getting nicked for assaulting another member of that 'fine' organisation. He snorted as he threw more than enough pounds on the bar and nodded to the bartender.

"Want me to call you a cab, John?"

"Nah. Just need to walk a bit, thanks, Joe."

"Listen, always thought he was a decent bloke. I'm - ya know."

"Yeah, thanks. Night."

He walked out into the growing darkness, at least the rain had stopped, but now the humidity was threatening to smother him. 

"John."

"Damnit, Greg. Not today."

"I - uhm - I've dismissed the charges against you fer chinning the Chief Super -"

John blinked at him for a minute. "Awfully big of you, Detective Inspector."

"John. Listen."

"Nope."

"I've been trying to text you all afternoon."

"Phone's busted. Arsehole ran me down on his bike, broke my phone and my watch. Pretty much a shit day all round."

"It's Dimmock's case."

John shook his head, he felt as if he were drowning, his ears seemed to be closing up, he was slowly shutting down. "What's Dimmock's case?"

"Sherlock - what happened up there - it has to be investigated, John. There's another body up there - looks like suic - hell." Lestrade pinched his nose then caught John before he crumpled to his knees. "Let me take you back to Baker Street - I'm parked just down the street."

"I'll never believe it, Greg - not ever."

"What?"

"That he ever lied to me." He closed his eyes and leaned into his friend, flinching at first as he felt Greg's arm wrap around his shoulder, then relaxed into it, as he felt himself be propelled down the sidewalk, pushed carefully into a car, then driven back to Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's reaction to being dead... well, mostly, kind of, sort of dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of slightly ridiculous comic relief...

Sherlock bolted upright on a couch in one of Mycroft's safe houses, as his brother entered the room. "What the fuck, Mycroft? He wasn't supposed to be there - he wasn't meant to see. Why didn't one of your men stop him from getting in that cab?"

"He did try, Sherlock, John rather rudely insisted."

"John insisted? He insisted!? John thinks he just watched me commit suicide right in front of him."

"Well, as fake deaths go, it was rather effective, if a shade on the dramatic side."

"'...a shade on the dramatic side?' Did you even know Moriarty had a gun? Or that your precious 'key code' was a load of codswallop? You are supposed to be the smarter one, Mycroft. I won't do it." Sherlock crossed his arms and stuck his chin out.

"Of course you will, don't be ridiculous. For all intents and purposes, in fact, legally you are quite deceased - damn. Don't tell me. I should have seen it. I am an idiot."

"What?" Sherlock scowled fiercely at Mycroft, but suddenly couldn't meet his brother's eyes.

"You've fallen in love - no. You love him, quite desperately. But you failed to tell him. Oh. Sherlock."

"Give me some time, Myc, make sure he's alright? I won't tell him - I won't put the mission at risk. He'll never know I was there, a few months, and then I'll go. Please, Myc."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and muttered to himself for a moment. "Very well. But do be careful, brother mine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Baker Street...

"John. Oh, thank goodness. DI Lestrade? Where is he, where is -" She stopped speaking as she saw the truth in their faces. "Take him upstairs - I know it's June, but there should be enough wood for a fire, it's a nasty night. I'll bring up some tea. You both look like you need it - go on with you." She nodded sharply at Lestrade, turned on her heel and tapped briskly back to her flat, closing the door firmly behind her.

"John? You're home, mate - let me -"

"NO." John shook his head at Lestrade and pulled away from him. "I can do it myself. Feel free to - fuck. Come on. Tea is fine, but we both need something stronger, after today." He brushed past him and made his way up the stairs, pausing only for a moment before he pushed the door open. Time seemed irrelevant suddenly. He looked at the room and tried to decide if the dust had already begun to settle just a bit. How long ago was it - a full day maybe since - he nearly hissed as he felt more than heard Lestrade walk into the flat. No. It wasn't his fault. He needed to let him off the hook, somehow. "Don't worry about the fire, Greg. Just sit, and I'll get the bottle. Go ahead. He won't - I was going to say, 'he won't mind if you sit there -' not sure what - wouldn't have minded - that's not true - he probably would have, but that doesn't much matter anymore does it?" But Greg took his usual place in the 'client's chair' as he always did, when he had a case that he couldn't wrap his brain around.

"Did 'e -" He stopped, ran his fingers through his damp hair and pulled his coat around him tighter.

"Did he what?" John re-entered the room with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. Lestrade watched him carefully, as he placed the glasses on the desk and poured out two healthy doubles.

"Say why 'e did it?" He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth and wished he could snatch them back. But John handed him a drink and dropped gently into his own chair.

"Didn't blame you."

"Not what I meant."

"I know. He said - he said the papers were right, that he made everything up, about Moriarty, everything, that he was a fake. A fraud." The last words were hoarsely whispered to himself more than to his friend.

Lestrade shivered as he stared down into his drink. "Let me make that fire, hmm?"

John shrugged. "You don't think -"

"Nope. And neither do you." Greg put his glass on the floor, got up from the chair and walked to the fireplace, slowly dropping to his knees and began building a small fire in it. "He could be a right arse, on the best of days, but, he's the most honest man I know - knew. Damn it. There had to be somethin' I could have done to stop him - he woulda been safer in jail, if I could have -" He pulled his lighter from his pocket and the room brightened a bit as the flames began to grow in the fireplace. He replaced the screen and turned to look at John.

"He wouldn't have lasted a week, you know that." 

"If - we coulda -"

"His only hope was to prove his innocence, and now with Moriarty - Richard Brook - whatever you want to call him, dead - it's going to be nearly impossible -" John fell into a silence and Lestrade retreated back to his chair and glared into his drink again.

 

"It's safer if you don't venture out, at least not tonight, Sherlock. You can keep an eye on them -"

"Already replaced the cameras in the few short hours since my passing? How considerate of you, brother." Sherlock sneered as he listened to the hush that settled over Baker Street.

"I knew you would want -"

"What do you know about what I want, Mycroft? John doesn't believe a word I said up there, it would be safer for him if he did, but at least that's something, isn't it -"

"His faith is touching, Sherlock."

"Bugger off, Mycroft." He stared into the fire as he sipped the wine he couldn't taste anymore, even though he knew it was of a brilliant vintage. Mycroft never bothered with anything less than the best money could buy. "He'll hate me, Myc, if I ever make it back."

"I don't think so, Sherlock. I don't think John Watson would ever be capable of hating you."

"I'm not so sure, Myc."

"Sherlock. I've never been in love, myself, but - going by the evidence - I do rather sense that he does hold you in some regard."

"Don't be an idiot, Myc. How many times - shhh"

 

"Did you two ever -"

"What?"

"We all thought - you know -"

"No. Though I did ask him - kind of, that first night - before that asinine drugs bust of yours, we were at Angelo's and I was just shooting the breeze, you know, making small talk, asked if he had a girlfriend - and he said, I still remember like it was yesterday - 'no. Not really my area.' And then I asked if he had a boyfriend, and if he did it was fine - and then he seemed to think - he told me that he was -

 

"'...flattered, but I consider myself married to my work.' Damn it. But - all those 'girlfriends'..."

"Think."

"But -"

"What did he do for you, on that very first case, Sherlock? He believed you to be in danger, and what did he do, Sherlock? I'll leave you to your deductions, do try to eat something, and perhaps even sleep, I know it's unlikely, but do consider what is to come, brother mine."

 

Baker Street had fallen silent again and Sherlock closed his eyes, then swore to himself as he got up and turned on the monitor so he could see into the flat. John was holding his empty glass, and staring into the fire. "If he had ever - if he had just said, Greg -"

"Yeah, I know, mate. Just know, John, he was brilliant before you came into his life, but you, you made him a better man, a good man - I'm sure he would tell you that himself if he were here."

Sherlock watched John's face crumple and he turned off the monitor, went into the bedroom, and opened the suitcase he had packed over a week ago. In less than ten minutes, he left the safe house, in a disguise even his mother couldn't see through and headed towards Baker Street.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly... watching over her boys.

"What are you doing here?"

"Don't. I need - "

"You shouldn't be anywhere near him."

"I know -"

"The whole point was to keep him safe, wasn't it?"

"How did you even know it's me?" Sherlock whispered as she walked past him.

"Keep your eyes covered, your eyes always give you away. Go back to the safe house. I'm taking him some dinner. Just in case, so he doesn't have to think about food. I'll bring you something soon - what do you want? Besides John, I mean."

"Molly."

"Go back. I'll do my best to make sure nothing happens to him. You need to stop thinking like you are still here. You aren't. There is nothing you can do for him, but do what you have to do and get back as soon as you can, and hope he forgives you." Sherlock looked at her and she sighed. "I know you had no choice, no real choice. What I know, what I've seen of you two - without you saying the words, because you two are idiots - he loves you. I know it. Now. Scoot. I'll be there when I can. Promise."

He scooted, without a backward glance.

 

"Molly?" John slowly opened the door and looked around her to be sure she was alone.

"Dinner, I brought you dinner. I figured you wouldn't have thought about eating today."

"You didn't have to, Molly, but thank you."

"Why are you whispering?" She looked over to where John pointed. Lestrade was out cold on the couch, snoring like a chainsaw.

Molly shook her head. "You know he's been suspended."

"Not because of the stunt we pulled -"

"Not only that. He hadn't told you."

John shook his head and covered the DI with the throw that lived on the back of the couch. "Just said that Dimmock was handling the - the case. I didn't realise - I'm an idiot. He stuck his neck out for me. Thanks, Molly. Are you - okay? I mean - you -"

"I just supervised, John. I couldn't - I made sure that all the Is were dotted..."

"... and Ts were crossed. Well, thank you for that. God, there's enough for an army here, you'll stay won't you?"

Molly shook her head. "Just make sure he eats, and gets home okay, yeah - it's going to be a long time before we are going to be okay, isn't it."

"I don't think I'll ever be okay, Molly. There is nothing okay about this."

"No, I know, John - I wish -"

"Yeah. Ta for dinner. Uhm - I don't know if I'll be able to - maybe we can meet for dinner in a couple of days? Pick a place - a new place? Just let me know, and I'll be there, yeah?"

"Of course, I understand. One day -"

"Molly?"

"One day it will be better, I promise, John." She watched his face for any understanding, but saw only exhaustion and grief. Grief for - oh god, Sherlock. He does love you. You two idiots. She shook her head, then reached up to kiss his cheek. "You don't want him to sleep too long there, bad back -"

"Right. I remember. I'll get him up and fed soon." Molly nodded and let herself out of the flat, knowing he'd still be there waiting for her.

 

"How is he?"

"How do you think he is?" She hissed at him. "He just watched his best friend and the person he loves, loved, most in the world jump from a fucking roof."

"Shhh..."

"And I couldn't tell him the truth. Do you know how much this sucks?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Sorry - it's just..."

"So bloody unfair. Yeah, I know. But I need to fix this - for him, for us, to have any chance."

"Come on, you need to eat."

"Not hungry."

'Doesn't matter. You'll eat."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're bossy?"

"Sometimes. It will be okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more angsty angst....

"Lestrade. Greg. GREG."

"Wha -?" Lestrade groaned as he pushed up to sitting. "John? Oh. Right. I'll just head home now. I'll try to get Dimmock to come here - I don't have much pull right now - but I know how much you don't want to go the Yard at the moment."

"Dinner. Molly brought dinner. And there is - a spare room now. He hasn't hadn't slept in it in a few days - he wasn't sleeping much. I should have known. I mean, before Moriarty came back, the whole case thing. He wasn't - he was worried, about something, and I didn't ask. Maybe I didn't want to know." He pushed a bowl of something into his friend's hands, then put a bottle of beer on the coffee table.

Greg took a bite of whatever it was, and chewed slowly for a moment, then looked up at John and sighed, putting his bowl down. "She told you. Not your fault, John, not his. I should've believed you guys when you told me about the pool, shoulda done more to, I dunno. Ever since the Hound thing, he seems seemed. Damn. Tenses. I was always better at maths... anyway, the 'powers that be' are suggesting I could get most of my pension if I just walk away now, if I let his name become dirt - not gonna happen, John. Honestly, I know it may sound funny, but he was someone I considered a friend - I knew if I needed him on a case, he'd be there, no matter what, and he never lied to me, John. Even when he was high, especially when he was high - he didn't really know how."

John laughed. "He always called me a terrible liar. It didn't occur to him to lie - sure he made up stories, but a real lie? No. You always knew what he was thinking, he rarely didn't let one know what he was thinking at the moment he thought it."

"Yeah. And he loved you, mate."

John stared into his barely touched bowl of food and shrugged before muttering,"hard to tell, some days."

"I knew. From that first crime scene."

"How?" 

"Hell, he listened to you. He wanted you there. Not just to show off for you - it was partly that - but he was sharing his life with you. He treated you like a partner from the first. He trusted you. And he never trusted anyone."

"He trusted you."

"Nah, mate, he needed me, for the work, for the cases. I think he tolerated my existence to a certain extent - what the hell am I eating?"

"Dunno - I can't really taste anything today. Everything is just wrong, I honestly thought he was -"

"Indestructible? Nah. You knew more than anyone how banged up he was - how many broken bones - all those times -"

"Maybe the wrong word, then -"

"Immortal."

"Yeah. That. I didn't think there was a thing that could kill him."

"To be honest, I'm not sure how he made it into his thirties, but he managed it, and then after he met you, he wasn't nearly as reckless. He had a reason -"

"Shit. I loved him too."

"Yeah, I know."

 

Molly helped Sherlock to the couch and made him stretch out and close his eyes. "Want me to turn off the audio?"

He shook his head as he tightened his fingers around the chain from the dog tags that dangled from his hand. "Just don't, don't leave me, Molly. Not tonight, please."

She placed her hand into his curls and felt him move closer to her. "I won't leave, I promise. Just close your eyes and try to sleep, Sherlock."

"I am doing the right thing, Molly, aren't I?"

She waited until she knew he was asleep before she whispered, "I'm not sure, to tell the truth, Sherlock. I don't know. All I know is that you need to return to him soon. To all of us." She closed her eyes and soon she too was fast asleep.

 

"I'm gonna turn in John. Sure you don't mind if I crash here tonight?"

"Nah, I feel safer knowing you are here, mate."

"Try to get some sleep, yourself, yeah."

John nodded and watched as his friend walked into Sherlock's old room and closed the door. He got up from the couch and walked to the door, checking to make sure it was locked and saw one of Sherlock's extra scarves hanging by the door. He took it from the hook and pressed it to his face. It still smelled of his friend, his ridiculous shampoo, a hint of chemicals, and tea.

"Damn it, Sherlock." He fell back onto the couch and to his surprise, fell into a hard, dreamless sleep, the scarf still entwined around his fingers, serving as a pillow. A few hours later, another day began, as it always had before.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and a bit more angst... there will be a fluffy chapter after - soon, promise.

There was someone making tea in his kitchen. It was now 'his' kitchen. There would be tea and toast made in it, his fridge would have food in it. Sometimes beer, but always milk, plenty of milk for one. Well, that's a happy fucking thought. He wondered if there was a period of mourning he would need to observe. For what precisely? Before he could - what - damn. A mug, a clean mug was placed on the coffee table next to him, he could smell the tea, and the scone next to it. He wondered how long Mrs. Hudson had been up baking last night. She had remembered that he had a fondness for the currant scones, with cream. He felt her hand pat his head gently, then quietly left the flat, not saying a word. Neither of them wanted to say the words out loud. She had been relieved to find him there on the couch. There's the shower. Lestrade was up. What will he do, now - he lived the for 'the work' as much as Sherlock - had. 

 

Up. Get up. Drink the tea. Eat the scone. Remember to stop by and thank Mrs. Hudson for the breakfast. Exchange a nod with Lestrade before he disappears down the steps and out the door. They had said everything that needed saying last night. He felt for his phone and was reminded again of everything that was broken. The phone could be replaced, it would be a pain in the arse, but he could get a new phone. The watch - ditto. It meant nothing, nothing in comparison - nope. Breathe, just remember to breathe - why did it hurt to breathe today? Maybe the bike bruised something. He thought not. 

Shower.   
Clothes.   
Shoes.   
Keys. Wallet.   
Good.

Open the door. Go out the door. Down the stairs. Knock on 221A. Give her a smile and a hug. "Not your housekeeper dear - but I don't mind."

"I know. I'll be back in a bit. Just need to -"

"Yes, dear." She patted his cheek and they didn't say it. Didn't need to say it, they knew if they said it to each other that meant it was real. So, no. "I'll be doing a nice chicken for tea. I'll bring up a plate for you - Mrs. Turner and I - Scrabble night, with the married ones. Routine, you know."

He nodded and kissed her cheek, then went out the door and found himself at Ella's office. He didn't notice that the rain had started again. He supposed he was fortunate he hadn't been caught in it. He tried to explain that he didn't have an appointment, and he would have called except his phone had been broken yesterday, he hadn't had time to get a new one, but if she could somehow make time for him, even just ten minutes, he would wait. He sat down in the waiting room and picked up a magazine; Ella was a foodie, she always had the best, most current food magazines by the chairs, no self-help pamphlets for her 'clients' as she called them.

"John?" She was at his shoulder. "My morning is open, come on back."

He knew she had spent the last ten minutes rearranging her schedule for him. He followed her back and dropped into the offered chair.

"So, why today, John? It's been, hmm... eighteen months since your last appointment."

Just eighteen months. Not even two years. Eighteen months.

"You have read the paper this morning? Watched telly?"

"Sometimes, I do, yes. Tell me, John. What brought you here this morning, of all mornings?"

"My best friend. He didn't even know - he didn't know he was the very best friend I ever had - Sherlock Holmes is dead." 

There. He had actually said it. Not just spoken about him in the past tense, actually spoken the words. He was dead. The most alive person he had ever known wasn't ever coming back.

"What would you say to him, if you could, John? The things you wished you could have said -"

"No. NO. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I've wasted your morning, Ella."

"John."

"Ella, he saved me, eighteen months ago, and when he needed me to find the right words to save him, I failed him. I tried, honestly, I did. I didn't see it coming - I should have -"

"Was there really anything you could have done differently, John?"

John sat back in his chair and considered the last few weeks, and slowly shook his head. "No. I don't think so. But -"

"Your friend was unique."

"Yes. I'll never meet another like him."

"Tell his story, John. You are the one who can keep him alive. No, not to me, use your blog. Write those stories you have kept back, bring your friend to life for those who think they knew him. Tell his story, John. And you will tell your own story. It won't make the mourning any easier at first, but over time - perhaps you will get to know him better, and learn to forgive him and yourself. One day you will be able to let yourself off the hook. Not today - but one day."

John nodded, and got to his feet. He offered her his hand, then left her office without another word, caught a cab, climbed the seventeen steps, remembering to skip the creaky one, unlocked the door, and sat down to write.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and a bit o' fluff...

It was December. Six months to the day. Nearly Christmas, but not quite. There were lights up in the city, it was cold. Actually it was a relief from the summer that had been the hottest on record on the days it wasn't raining. John had a newish phone, hadn't bothered getting a new watch, as he wrote every day, he always knew what day it was, and the time - time had become - well, nearly meaningless. He slept when he was tired, ate when he remembered he should eat. He met up with Lestrade at the local every Wednesday. He didn't date. He and Molly had brunch once a month. He hadn't seen Mycroft since before Sherlock jumped, though he had the feeling he was being watched, at the very least listened to, though for some reason he found that comforting. He tried not to consider why.

He had signed with a publisher. Sherlock, had he been around, probably would have laughed. The advance meant he didn't have to work locum hours any longer, though he did spend time taking care of Sherlock's Homeless Network. When they showed up at his door, he didn't turn them away, he patched and listened, made tea, and gave them a place to stay if needed. Penance? Perhaps. He didn't think about that too much either.

A knock at the door brought him out of his trance - he was currently staring at a blank screen, and he wasn't quite sure how long - he opened the door and caught the man who fell forward, into his arms. A new one, and yet, not a teenager. In his thirties, easily, maybe early forties, far too thin. He felt him shiver, but try to pull back, away from him. "This was a mistake."

"No. You're in the right place." He helped the man to a sitting position and heard the familiar jangle of dog tags. A vet. Damn. He reached out to touch the tags and a large, elegant hand stopped him.

"Don't." The voice. "I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry, John." He started to get to his feet, but he was too exhausted, it had taken all the energy he had left to climb the stairs, and he sat down again, with a groan.

"Look at me. Please?" John found his voice wouldn't work beyond a hoarse whisper. He reached out again, but this time to take the man's pulse, weak and thready at best, and blinked when he finally lifted his head and he could see the eyes that were nearly buried under the long scraggly bangs. Somehow they were same eyes. "Sherlock."

"I wasn't sure - I thought you'd be gone, and I could just rest here for a bit. I'll go - I won't bother you. I promise."

"Idiot. For all of your genius, you always were an idiot. I figured it out. Took me a while, a whole month. I thought about trying to convince Mycroft to tell me where you were - I guess it's why he stayed away, and maybe he theorised quite correctly I'd want to punch him if he ever made the mistake of putting a foot in this place. You look like hell. I was just about to put on the kettle -"

Sherlock snorted, then started laughing, until tears flowed down his cheeks. "John Watson, only you would offer a dead man tea."

"I would have offered you something stronger, but you were always a lightweight, you berk."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"John -"

"No. I don't need you to explain anything, unless you want to, but not right now. I am going to put on tea, and then take a look at you - no, no hospital, I still have a first-aid kit around here somewhere - I kept all of your clothes, we'll have to feed you up a bit before you'll fit into them again. I have some left over take away, I can heat that up -" he managed to get to his feet and was about to walk into the kitchen when he heard Sherlock's voice, and he returned to where Sherlock was still sitting.

"What?"

"I said, 'I missed you.'"

John nodded. "Yeah, I love you, too." He scooped Sherlock from the floor and half-carried him to the couch. "Still take a ridiculous amount of sugar in your tea?"

"John."

"Don't. You're home. That's all that matters."

"It can't be that simple."

"Well, it is. For me, it is."

"That thing you said, a minute ago."

"Yeah?"

"Me too, John. Always." John knelt in front of him and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead and heard him whimper before placing his hands in John's hair, and holding him there. "You're really here, John."

"Yeah, I'm here, Sherlock. Really and truly."

"Forever?"

"Forever and always."


End file.
